Sincerely Slytherins: The Fire Blaises
by Faithful Wheezy
Summary: Deep down, Blaise Zabini had always wanted to be a Gryffindor, in an effort searching for family. Part of the Sincerely Slytherin series.


AN: Hi, there. The idea just popped into my head last night, and I decided that I wanted to write this. Anywho, enjoy this, I had fun writing this. As you know, I own nothing of the Harry Potter series, J. K. R. does, blah blah, on we go!

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_The Fire Blaises_

Blaise Zabini was very disgruntled as he walked to the Slytherin Common Room from the Great Hall. He often got lost here and there—he wasn't satisfied with being sorted into Slytherin. He didn't know what he wanted to be.

Blaise was hopelessly lost in more ways than one.

Blaise suspected that he should be embarrassed of this; he was in fifth year, he'd been in Hogwarts for five years—why did he still get lost? He could just imagine it:

"_Er, 'scuse me. Are you in Slytherin?"_

There would be a nodding head.

"_Could you tell me where the Common Room is? I'm lost…"_

"_Aren't you a Fifth Year?"_

"_Er, yes."_

"_And you still don't know where it is? My God, are you a mudblood or something?"_

"_That doesn't really matter, does it?"_

Then the person would make a disgusted face and walk away, and Blaise would start all over again.

He should know—he'd done it before.

After a few long minutes of maneuvering his way around the castle, he finally found the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. Blaise opened his mouth confidently, but abruptly shut it again. _Damnit! What's the bloody password?_

Blaise stared at the vault, and sat down on the cold floor. He used this time to think; not many Slytherins would've done this.

He had always wondered why he ended up in Slytherin when he was younger. After all those icy nights sleeping in the silent Boys' Dormitory, he started to find out more about himself.

Every summer, he went back to his home with his beautiful mother and the year's New Husband. Blaise never knew his dad. His mother kept on telling him that he was in a better place, and to 'look at what Daddy left us!'. Every year, his mother had a new husband, and every five years, possibly a new child; not to mention the high amount of gold in their Gringotts Vault.

His mother never gave him the motherly love he had often heard and saw about. The lack of love and attention had hardened him; it had given him an ambition so strong. An ambition for what, however, he didn't know.

He supposed it was the pride and ambition in him that had sorted him into Slytherin.

Back then, he didn't really care. He didn't notice the importance of the houses—he didn't even listen to the Sorting Hat's song, swathed in his blanket of anger and contempt.

It was halfway through his First Year when he found out about the real importance of everything.

It was Christmas; his first Christmas away from home. But that didn't matter, really. Every Christmas at the Zabini Manor was just a quiet day, the gifts under the Christmas tree simply retrieved by Blaise in the dead of the night, his gifts for his mother and his current stepfather left abandoned, never opened.

He was in the Great Hall, eating at a small table that had replaced the long Slytherin dining table, alone. Draco Malfoy, the pale-headed boy that he occasionally tagged along with, had gone home for the holidays, and Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle had too left.

So there he was, when a red-headed boy and Harry Potter had walked in, wearing new sweaters, carrying with them a handful of gifts, and sat down with a meager amount of people who had not gone home as well.

Probably friends.

Bugger.

Everybody had looked so warm in sweaters and coats that had been sent to them as gifts from mothers. They were eating pastries, cookies, Christmas cakes, cracking Christmas Crackers—and Blaise just sat on the opposite end of the Hall unnoticed, shivering and cold, eating only oatmeal.

He learned that the red-headed boy and Harry Potter had been in the Gryffindor House, as well as the bushy-haired Mudblood who seemed to bicker with the red-head a lot. Despite that, everyone in the blasted House seemed so happy, content, and carefree. Everybody seemed to be friends with everyone, in good relations with their family.

Sometimes, he wished he could have that happiness.

He hated Slytherin.

Slytherin hadn't helped or improved his life any; it didn't quite affect him, actually. However, it was an echo to the life he lived.

He hated his life.

Blaise wished he could be like the Gryffindors. He didn't care much for the Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs.

There was something about Gryffindor that he wanted.

"Blaise! What're you doing, sitting on the floor like a filthy mudblood?" A sharp voice drawled behind him.

Blaise turned around. "Forgot the password," he grunted quietly, his cheeks warming up.

Draco Malfoy scoffed and turned towards the vault. "_Frigus Flamma,_" he said.

Blaise stood up from the floor and dusted himself off. "Right," he mumbled, climbing into the hole before Malfoy.

"Why do you always forget the password anyway?" Malfoy asked, his eyebrows raised mockingly. You're as bad as a Half-Blood."

_What is it with all this pureblood, half-blood, mudblood stuff?_ Blaise thought with contempt.

"Er," he managed, "I just…" _don't want to be in Slytherin._ "…I just have a bad memory."

"Too right you do," Malfoy sneered. "Well. I'm turning in. Long day tomorrow, you see. I'm going to torment that idiot, Muggle-loving Gryffindors." He closed his eyes, smirking. "I've often thought about those new jinxes that idiot Umbridge told us were illegal in here. I'll just blame them on someone else."

Blaise nodded absently. "Right."

Malfoy stretched, stood up, and left without a word.

And Blaise was left in the Slytherin Common Room, staring at the fireless fireplace. He could practically hear the Gryffindors yelling 'Good night!' clear across the castle, the Gryffindor Common Room loud with raucous yells and laughter.

Blaise was alone in the empty Slytherin Common Room.

He crossed over to the fireplace and lit a fire with his wand.

Finally alone, he sat on the floor, abandoning the elegant, green armchairs, and watched the fire blaze.

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AN: If you're wondering what _Frigus Flamma _means, it means 'Cold Flames'.

Other than that, I really hope you enjoyed this story! Watch out for my other stories as well. So... see you when I see you, da!


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